For Blue Skies
by Inflamore
Summary: I never believed you. I only wanted to. I can't get used to it. I'll never get used to it. TEARJERKER. MAJOR SPOILERS. One shot revolving around the Hamada Brothers. NO SLASH. Takes place one year post BH6. Heavily inspired by For Blue Skies by Strays Don't Sleep.


**So I've been super busy, but managed to get this finished tonight. I've been listening to this song,** _ **For Blue Skies**_ **by** _ **Strays Don't Sleep.**_ **It's such a BEAUTIFUL song and so sad. It reminds me a lot of Hiro and what he would say to Tadashi after his death. There are A LOT of references to that song in this story, so listen to it as you read! Really! You won't be sorry! Actually, I'm requiring it! Haha. Pull it up before you read and read it as it plays. It's so perfect, I think.**

 **Also, there is a line in this story that may not make sense if you haven't read the three parts to "The Things We Lost in the Fire" in my drabble set, _Burnt Fingers_ and if you haven't read the chapter "Mother's Day" in _A Brother's Bond_ by _Rayany Amor._ So go check those out to get the full story!**

 **Anyway, this is the longest fic I've written since I left all of those years ago. So I hope you enjoy. Shaking of the rust again. This only took me around an hour to write and review. Let me know what you think!**

 _Disclaimer: I do not own_ Big Hero 6. _This story is loosely based around and named after_ For Blue Skies _by_ Strays Don't Sleep.

 **For Blue Skies**

It was a quiet night. Baymax was charging. Everyone else was sleeping. It was 2am, after all. Even heroes had to sleep.

Well, heroes that weren't Hiro. He was known for his bouts of insomnia.

It was raining softly. He had slipped from the café in the darkness, not minding the rain or the cold. He stuck his hands in his pockets and started walking. He allowed his thoughts to take him, his feet carrying him unconsciously.

When he arrived at the cemetery, he wasn't surprised. He walked through the gates, finding the gravestone easily in the dark. He stared at the engraved letters, his eyes tracing his brother's name over and over – _Tadashi Hamada_. Flowers surrounded the gravestone, and a small picture of Tadashi rested at the foot of the stone, raindrops dripping down the glass.

It has been a long year. And yet, every day, Hiro missed him. He missed him and was so angry at him at the same time. He had the guys, sure, and Baymax of course. But Tadashi…Tadashi was his person, his best friend. And he missed him so much it was physically painful. Some nights he would double over in pain after a particular dream about Tadashi, tears staining his face and struggling to stay quiet as to not alert Baymax.

They say time heals the pain…but how much time? And how much pain does it really heal?

There wasn't a big enough band aid for the wound Tadashi's death made.

"Hey, nerd," Hiro started, sadly. "How's your halo?"

The only answer to his question was the rain falling softly around him. He stared at the picture in front of the grave. He hadn't visited in so long because he was so angry. Tonight, that anger was gone, replaced with guilt and agony.

"It's been a year, you know? Well, of course you know, I'm sure. Anyway…" He felt a bit silly, but continued anyway. "Baymax is great. So is everyone else. They're…they're taking care of us. Well, I don't think they'd put it like that but they had a lot to do with putting me back together…"

The words came in a rush, an entire year's worth of communication spilling from Hiro so fast. He told Tadashi of their battles, of the new hall opened in his honor, how Baymax learned new fighting tricks. He was concentrating on the words so much he didn't notice the tears falling from his face, the shaking in his fists and in his voice.

"—next time, of course. Just – Oh, Tadashi. I miss you so much." The words came in a huff, and he took a deep breath, still shaking. "I'm so sorry. I've been so angry at you." He paused. "I've been so angry at you for leaving me. And I know it's so selfish. I've replayed that night thousands and thousands of times. Could I have saved you? Could I have done something to stop you? If I would have begged harder, held on tighter, would you have stayed? Would that have mattered, anyway? I can't get used to it. I'll never get used to it."

The rain was easing up, and Hiro was drenched. He shivered from the cold, but didn't move from where he stood. The scab had been ripped open again tonight, and he stood bleeding over Tadashi's grave, the wound gaping and just as raw and fresh as it had been that night. He allowed the pain to wash completely over him, allowed the memory of Tadashi to hit him at full force, not holding back anything.

To remember him was incredibly painful but necessary, and Hiro knew this. He knew the last thing he needed was to forget him. He closed his eyes, every memory taking his breath, pouring salt into the wound. There was something strangely comforting in it, however; Hiro could remember his voice, remember how it felt when Tadashi ruffled his hair, how it sounded when he came home from a late night at the lab. He finally caught his breath again, opening his eyes and forcing himself to keep talking, to tell Tadashi everything he needed to, even if he couldn't hear him.

"I've felt so alone, 'dashi. Even with everyone else. I never believed you, you know. When you said that stuff before…you know. I never believed you. Or Dad. I only wanted to.

"I just want you to know, 'dashi. I forgive you. I know you really didn't do anything to hurt me, but I have to say it for my sake." He kneeled on the wet ground, reaching his hand out to touch the tombstone. "I forgive you. And I'm so sorry for being angry. I love you. And I miss you so much, you nerd." He smiled slightly. "I'll deny it if you ever tell anyone I said that."

He stood, his eyes still fixed on the picture of Tadashi, smiling at him from the glass of the frame. "I hope, wherever you are, that you're happy."

With that, Hiro turned and started his trek back to the café, wiping the tears from his face as the rain stopped. He knew, deep in his heart, that this wound would never heal. Some nights, like tonight, it would be ripped right open, bleeding and fresh. Other nights, it would stay closed, only throbbing slightly. But every day, it would always be a scar, ugly and jagged, one that only Hiro would be able to see. And that was okay. He would still survive. There would still be blue skies, and, if for nothing else, Hiro would continue on to do what Tadashi couldn't do.

The wind tugged at the hood on his head, and seemed to carry a whisper on it – _Nerd._

He smiled – _ridiculous_ – and continued home.


End file.
